


comfort food

by Kangoo



Series: but first they must catch you [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen or Pre-Slash, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 10:58:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangoo/pseuds/Kangoo
Summary: drifter comes home to occam cooking





	comfort food

**Author's Note:**

> occam is the human equivalent of a feral raccoon and i love them so much so i wrote them something nice for once
> 
> thyme belongs to [BaronetCoins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaronetCoins/pseuds/BaronetCoins), whom i love

The Drifter is worrying about dinner. He usually is, to be fair. Worrying over what his next meal is going to be is a constant background noise in his mind, running in parallel to whatever else he’s doing. Even now as he’s walking back to his… ‘room’ in the Tower he’s mentally going through his food stores, wondering if he has any cans left or if it’s going to be Hive meat again. He’s been too busy for grocery runs lately. Damn Nines throwing his routine out of wack. It’s nice to even have one, for once, and they had to come and ruin it all.

He falters a few steps from the door. There’s… a smell. Spices, and more stuff that he can’t name. His thoughts briefly turn to the spicy ramen shop up the stairs, but it’s too far for the scent to be so strong, and anyway he’s been here for months and he’s never smelled anything like that. It has to come from his place. Thyme, maybe? She tends to drop by with take out. She worries he doesn’t feed himself well enough. He thought she was on a mission, but she might have come back earlier and dropped by to say hi.

Still, he stays ready for anything as he steps forward. He hasn’t survived this long by not being cautious.

As it turns out, not _anything_. Because instead of Thyme and take out he finds Occam busying themself behind his cooking corner, and the sight of it is enough to leave him gaping for a moment. It’s a testament to Occam’s focus on their task that they don’t notice him right away. They usually have the awareness of a neurotic rabbit, jumping at the slightest movement in the corner of their eyes.

“Hi,” he finally says, sounding more confused than he’d like to admit. “Didn’t expect you there.”

Occam glances up, eyes flicking up and down as they give Drifter a once-over — checking for injuries even though they both know how fast Lightbearers heal. Then they go back to the pot on the stove, ignoring his implied question.

“What are you doing?”

They look back to him, this time with a spark of annoyance in their dark eyes. “Algebra. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Drifter lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, fair. I didn’t know you cooked, that all.”

He walks up to them, just slow enough to appear casual while still testing the waters. Whether or not they’re feeling like having someone in their space depends on their mood, which is usually inscrutable, and what they’re currently doing. Considering this is a whole new situation and he has no idea how big they consider their personal bubble when they’re cooking, he prefers to thread lightly. It’s not that they get violent or anything like that. Not with him, at least. But they get… uncomfortable. Closed off. He doesn’t like it when they get like that, so he tries to avoid it as much as he can.

It gives him a moment to watch them work, though. They look like they know their way around a stove, adding ingredients and stirring the thing with an ease born of repetition. He had no idea they did this so often. They don’t eat together all that often, in hindsight. It’s kind of a funny thing to watch, though. It has a domestic feeling to it that clashes with Occam’s whole deal, the black getup and the makeup — _warpaint_— smeared under their eyes all the way over their cheekbones from rubbing their eyes too much.

They make a noncommittal sound in the back of their throat. “I can cook, I just don’t enjoy it.” They stir the content of the pot with their chopsticks then add, almost as an afterthought, “But it’s easier than checking every take out container for poison so.”

Most of Occam’s quirks are motivated by their acute paranoia. He’s not exactly surprised this not isn’t an exception to the rule.

“Ah.”

They shrug. “I’m coping.”

Drifter pushes aside the thought that he never _noticed_ Occam checking take out for poison — their Ghost always come out when they’re eating, flying from box to box like a hummingbird who can’t make up its mind, it makes sense when he thinks about it.

“If you say so. Doesn’t explain why you’re doin’ it here though. Not that I’m complaining,” he hurries to add. “It looks great and I’m starvin’. But I got a feeling your apartment is better equipped than mine.”

Occam stabs their chopsticks toward him, the gesture’s aggressiveness somewhat undermined by the tired-vacant look in their eyes. This is the real question: not _why here_ but _why now. _It doesn’t look like one of their good days. Hey, what does he know about the guy. Maybe that’s their idea of self care.

“Stop questioning my food and go grab chopsticks. And a chair.”

“Bossy, bossy.”

They eat at the stove, straight out of the pot. Occam mutters that it ought to have rice with it but doesn’t look too inclined to make any themself. After a while they prop their legs up, keep one knee pressed against their chest and balance their other foot on the edge of Drifter’s chair, pressed against his thigh.

When he looks up they’re ignoring him in favor of the food, which is fair, because it’s really good food. But he smiles anyway. Occam isn’t a casual touch kind of person. They’re bad at the whole attachment thing. They get worked up about it, disappear for days at a time when they feel like they’re beginning to like him a little too much. It’s good to see them initiate it, for once.

Hell, maybe they’re right, they _are_ coping with that whole cooking business. Even if it’s just to avoid the marginal risk of being poisoned by some unknown enemy. Whatever works, really. And if Drifter gets some good food out of it—

Well. Who is he to complain.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering, occam is cooking [kimchi jjigae](https://mykoreankitchen.com/kimchi-jjigae/)


End file.
